


Hello, Goodbye

by Neyiea



Series: Links of a Chain [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-03
Updated: 2014-06-03
Packaged: 2018-02-03 07:31:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1736303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neyiea/pseuds/Neyiea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Fíli, son of Dís, at your service," he introduces with a deep bow and Sigrid tries not to look too bewildered.</p><p>"Sigrid," she murmurs, "daughter of Bard, at yours." She steps into what she hopes is a half-decent curtsy before awkwardly pulling herself back up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hello, Goodbye

**Author's Note:**

> Ah yes, some more Figrid for you lovely people who, like me, are distressed by the lack of it in the fandom. <3

The phrase 'bursting at the seams' has always brought unkind thoughts of the Master's shirts to mind, of fabric stretched to its limit and thread snapping, despite the fact that the man was well off enough to afford clothes tailored to fit. She'd never suspected that she'd think of any other circumstance where the expression could be used so aptly, yet here she was.

Sigrid had always thought their house was a cozy, respectable size. Big enough that she could have room to breathe when she needed it, small enough that managing the upkeep as well as looking after her siblings didn't leave her feeling drained. It's a very comfortable home.

And it is now fuller than she can ever remember it being.

It isn't that Sigrid doesn't like the company, rough and tumble though they are, and it's obvious that they're safe because her father would never have let them inside otherwise, but she'd like to be prepared for these sorts of things and at the moment she is most assuredly _not_.

Had she known she'd have put the kettle on ages ago.

Bain and Tilda, though incredibly curious, end up sticking close to her when their da's off speaking to the ones who seems to be in charge, and she in turn spends more time fussing over them than usual. She ruffles their hair and lightly tugs at their clothing, murmuring under her breath to be mindful of the chill as her eyes rove over the crowd, absentmindedly wondering if she should grab a few more spare blankets.

They've changed out of their soaking clothes, but the damp cold of the lake tends to cling.

Her siblings eventually relax, especially when one of the dwarves, Bofur, she thinks his name is, turns out to be quite a story-teller.

Sigrid allows herself a moment to stand still and listen, smiling at the way Bain and Tilda become so captivated by the tale he's spinning. She's so engrossed in their elation, she hasn't seen them look so carefree in a while, that she hardly notices when another dwarf comes to stand directly beside her.

"It's always nice," he muses, voice naught but a whisper, "t'see the young ones at ease."

She glances down at him. The names haven't all sunk in yet so she's not sure who's speaking, but she does know that the golden-haired dwarf is the elder of a pair of brothers.

"Aye, that it is," she answers, a smile curving at her lips.

The dwarf takes a step forward and turns on his heel to face her, a wry grin painted across his mouth.

"Fíli, son of Dís, at your service," he introduces with a deep bow and Sigrid tries not to look too bewildered.

"Sigrid," she murmurs, "daughter of Bard, at yours." She steps into what she hopes is a half-decent curtsy before awkwardly pulling herself back up.

Her eyes flick around the room, taking stock of everything in a way that's become second nature after being a care-giver for so long, and her eyes settle worriedly on the dark haired brother, Kíli, she remembers now, because their names had rhymed, before she turns her attention on Fíli once again.

He thankfully doesn't appear to be insulted by her shifting attention, perhaps correctly guessing that she isn't used to having so many guests.

Guests who had been quite cautious about sneaking inside, at that.

Though she is intrigued by their presence she curbs the urge to ask him what business they have with her father and instead waits for him to start up a conversation, or turn away now that they've been properly introduced.

He does neither, seeming content to stand before her and look her over as though she is some sort of unusual specimen. She wonders if he has not often been exposed to the race of Men, for him to find her odd enough to stare at. Or maybe that is just the way all dwarves are; from what little she has seen of them so far they seem to be an _unsubtle_ race, not outright rude, just... Different from what she's used to.

She fidgets under his continued scrutiny. 

That seems to snap him out of it.

"Forgive me, my lady," he begins, and Sigrid feels her eyebrows raise at being addressed in such a manner, "I'm afraid my thoughts were drifting, I did not mean to cause you any discomfort."

"Oh no, it's alright," she is quick to assure him, "though please, call me Sigrid." A title like 'My Lady' hardly suits her, no matter who her ancestors were, and it's not something she would remember to answer to.

"Sigrid, then." He smiles, but his attention shifts to a point behind her, and Sigrid would know the heavy sound of her father's footsteps anywhere. She glances back and sees him carrying a long bundle of wet cloth that she knows is heavy from more than just water. "I should go."

She nods and steps aside so that he may pass, idly noting that all the other dwarves, even Bofur the storyteller, have gathered around her father to conduct business.

The only way for her to avoid eavesdropping entirely would be to sequester herself away in her room, which isn't sensible at all, so she tidies up the kitchen and tries not to pay too much attention to the conversation her father is having. Or the way the dwarves seem irate at the idea that they cannot leave until nightfall.

Not that that seems to stop them. It isn't long after Bard hurriedly slips out of the house that they gather up their things, leaving the items her father laid out for them on the table untouched. She has a vague idea of what that may mean for the Master's armoury, but the idea of these dwarves stealing weapons isn't nearly so worrying as the idea they'll be seen leaving their house.

They don't seem too intent to go out the way they came in, and Bain stands against the door looking increasingly nervous as the group comes closer. They won't be able to stop them from leaving, they likely wouldn't have been able to even if they weren't so outnumbered, but that doesn't mean Sigrid will just let them walk _right out the front door_.

She swiftly steps in front of Bain, because for all that he's grown the past year he's still her little brother and she's going to shield him from as much as she can, and crosses her arms, frowning like she does when she finds Tilda on the verge of creating mischief.

That, at least, seems to make them pause.

"Da wasn't lying when he said the house was under watch," she keeps her voice steady through force of will, trying not to think of how easy it would be for them to set her aside. Bain shifts forward to stand right at her shoulder and from the corner of her eye she can she Tilda wavering on whether or not to join them. Sigrid shakes her head firmly and turns her attention fully back to the dwarves. 

A grim-faced dwarf, his dark hair shot through with grey, purses his lips at their weak blockade. 

"I do not wish to waste any more time," he states firmly, though not unkindly, "what would you have me do?"

She jerks her chin. "Follow me."

There is a decent sized window in her room that she likes to keep open during the warmer months, and the tight walkway it opens on to has more than a few buckling planks which is generally enough to keep the other citizens of Laketown at bay. It's not made for a graceful exit, but it'll do in a pinch for a secretive one.

She watches as they pass through, one by one, until only two are left.

Kíli, still looking a bit sallow, steps towards the window first while Fíli turns to her.

"It was nice meetin' you, Sigrid," he says cordially and his brother, already halfway out, pauses briefly to cast a glance back at them with raised eyebrows and a half-smile.

"You as well, Fíli." And she thinks that will be the end of it, but he makes no move to step out the window.

"Maybe we'll see each other again someday."

She smiles. "I would like that."

He blinks, almost seeming startled at her words, but then he grins brightly and takes her hand in his. For a moment, heart in her throat, she thinks he's going to lean down to kiss her knuckles, but instead he trails the rough pad of his thumb over them, eyes never leaving her face.

It almost feels more intimate than what she had expected.

"Until we meet again, Sigrid," he bids, and then he's silently slipping out the window to join his brother.

Sigrid flexes her fingers lightly before bringing her hand up to cup her cheek.

It is a good thing Fíli had been the last to go, because she can only imagine how red her face is.

"Until we meet again, Fíli."


End file.
